Home
by AnnaOtaku
Summary: - Build higher walls around me, change every lock and key. Nothing lasts, nothing holds all of me. My heart's far, far away, home and free - Hermione gives herself up to keep Harry safe. There, in her prison, the memory of him is all that keeps her sane.


**I honestly don't know where this came from. I'm not a huge Dramione fan, or a Draco fan at that, but making him a good guy just kind of fit. Also, it's very dark in places, so... ye be warned...or something like that...i guess...**

**I'm in love with this song, by the way. It's Home**** from the Beauty and the Beast musical(which I just did with my school choir, so of course this has been stuck in my head for a while).**

**Ships in story: H/Hr!!!, D/Hr(if you squint), R/L(kind of)**

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_Yes, I made the choice_

_For Harry, I will stay_

_But I don't deserve to lose my freedom in this way_

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It had all happened so quickly that Hermione could barely fathom that her plan had actually worked. The snatchers had appeared outside of their tent in the early evening a week after Ron returned. Harry had forgotten about the taboo on Voldemort's name, and both Hermione and Ron knew exactly what was happening when angry shouts came from outside the tent.

As quickly as the Deatheaters had appeared, Hermione had thrown everything of importance into her beaded bag, shoving the glittery thing into Harry's hands. Ron, who had spent enough time around the clever girl, understood what she meant for them to do, and started to protest.

She flashed him a pleading look, then pulled out her wand. He nodded gravely, grabbing onto Harry's arms. Harry, who had noticed the exchange between his two best friends, frowned.

"Hermione, wait-"

Clenching her teeth, Hermione waved her wand, undoing her meticulous wards from around the tent.

"GO!" She shouted. Ron gave her a quick, apologetic look then apparated away, taking a struggling Harry with him.

Before she could think, she was dragged from the tent, where one of the smarter snatchers recognized her as Harry Potter's muggleborn friend. Fenrir Greyback smiled at her like an animal sizing up a meal, then stunned her into blissful darkness.

When she was revived, she was in a body-bind on the floor of an elegent, albeit dark, sitting room. Bellatrix LeStrange stood above her, a sadistic smile on her gaunt face.

"Look what the dog dragged in," she drawled, eyes flitting eerily. "A dirty little mud blood; Potter's bitch." She spat on Hermione's face, then kicked the girl in the ribs. Hermione bit back a shout, determined to deny the witch any satisfaction.

Le Strange knelt down, grabbing Hermione's chin and forcing the girl to look at her. "I'll make this simple, you piece of filth: tell me where Potter is, and I'll kill you now. Don't tell me, and, well…Bella likes to play."

Hermione felt bile rising into her throat, but she stared into Le Strange's eyes determinedly. "Go to Hell."

Bellatrix smiled eerily, slapping Hermione roughly across the face. "A feisty little girl, we've got here. One of those stupid Gryffindors, I suppose. No matter." She stood up, grabbing Hermione by the hair. As if the girl was made of paper, the sadistic Deatheater dragged her over to a stiff couch, throwing her down without care.

"Want you to be comfortable, now," Bellatrix said mockingly, before shouting, "CRUCIO!"

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_You monster!_

_If you think that what you've done is right, well then_

_You're a fool!_

_Think again…_

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Hermione awoke from her nightmare-ridden sleep in a dark room. The window was boarded up, and where a bed had obviously once been only remained a ratty mattress. Hermione touched the doorknob, falling backwards as it electrocuted her.

The young witch crawled to the mattress, curling into a ball. Her body ached all over from the hours of torture, and her heart ached for home. To be with her mum and dad, away from the war and magic. She longed to be at Hogwarts, dragging Ron into the library or watching Harry practice Quidditch or braiding Ginny's hair in the common room. She even longed to be in the tent again, huddling next to Harry in the cold as they tried to crack the mystery of the horcruxes.

_Harry_. Just the thought of her best friend filled Hermione's body with warmth, lessening the ache of her body. His smiling face appeared before her, and she reached out to touch him as the door opened again.

He disappeared into the light that spilled into the room as two Deatheaters dragged Hermione from the mattress.

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_Is this home?_

_Is this where I should learn to be happy?_

_Never dreamed_

_That a home could be dark and cold_

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Hermione sat on her mattress, scratching another line into the wall where she was keeping a tally of the days she had been in captivity.

_Four days._

Four days without food. Four days with being served water from a dog bowl. Four days of endless torture and terror-filled dreams. Four days of relying on her memories of Harry to keep herself sane. Four days of wishing for death, so she would stop being tempted to give him away.

Truthfully, she had no idea where Ron had apparated to, but she had guesses. And the young girl was terrified that Bellatrix would actually be able to get an answer out of her, sooner or later.

The room she slept in was cold. The stone floor was icy on her bare feet, and she often regretted taking off her tennis shoes as she slept. No light came into the room, and the girl grew used to sitting in the pitch black, contemplating when she would die.

During these times, Harry would come to her, glowing in the dark room like an angel. He would sit next to her, but never touching, and smile. No talking, no hugging; he just smiled. And as soon as she tried to say something or take hold of his hand, he would disappear, and the door to her room would open.

But as she was pulled from the bedroom, she would catch a fleeting glance of Harry standing by her mattress, and new courage would fill her heart. She could survive one more torture, as long as she knew Harry was waiting for her.

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_I was told_

_Every day in my childhood:_

_Even when you grow old_

_Home should be where the heart is_

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It was now five days without food and Hermione was certain that Bellatrix was going to starve her to death. She wouldn't put it past the Deatheater to resort to such primitive ways.

As this thought flitted through her mind, her door opened again.

_Not again. It's only been an hour. Even demonic creatures like Le Strange have to sleep at some point. _Hermione thought, curling into a ball on her mattress.

"Granger. Are you awake?" She turned to see Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, a hunk of bread and an apple clutched in his hands.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She asked, voice a whisper. She had given in to the pain early on, and had been screaming for hours on end for the past couple of days. Now she could barely talk, but it's not like it mattered. There was no one to talk to.

He threw the food onto her mattress, staring blankly at the witch. "I came to make sure you didn't die before Aunt Bella could get Potty's whereabouts."

Before, Hermione would have glared at him for saying things like that, but now, here, she smiled. His voice lacked his usual malice, barely held the amount of mocking it used to. He almost seemed concerned.

"Thanks, Malfoy."

"Whatever, Granger."

He walked out, shutting the door quietly. She nibbled on the bread quietly, gratefully, as Harry watched, smiling.

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_Never where words so true!_

_My heart's far, far away_

_Home is too_

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Bellatrix soon grew annoyed with Hermione's resistance to the cruciartus curse, and found new ways to torture the girl. Two weeks passed and Hermione was on the floor of another empty bedroom that had become Bellatrix's base of operations.

Forgetting her wand, Bellatrix wielded a knife, cutting the girl on a whim, slowly, painfully.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Granger? You know you want it to end. You know you want to die." She pressed the knife against Hermione's throat, whispering in her ear. "Tell me, my pretty little bitch. Tell Bella your secrets. I promise they're safe with me."

Hermione stared at the wall defiantly, and muttered, "Never."

Bellatrix shrieked with anger, and plunged the knife into Hermione's stomach. The young girl collapsed into a heap, gasping for air.

"Draco!" The pale boy stuck his head, face indifferent. "Clean up this mess. And take the whore back to her room." The dark-haired witch left the room, still clutching at her knife.

Hermione vaguely noticed as Draco Malfoy kneeled over her, muttering spells and stroking his wand over the hole in her stomach. The pain slowly subsided, and she sat up slowly as he cleaned the blood from the rug.

Without speaking, he picked up her small frame, carrying her gently to her prison instead of dragging her like the other Deatheaters had. He set her down on her mattress, then began to heal her other cuts. Neither spoke as he worked, and Hermione saw Harry watched from the corner of the room.

"You know, you've lasted longer than most. Aunt Bella is furious that you haven't broken yet." His voice was quiet, his eyes on his work.

She said nothing, contemplating this fact. He finished, then left quickly, and Hermione fell back on her mattress, drifting into sleep, a glowing Harry lying next to her. His smile was the last thing she saw as her heavy eyes closed.

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_What I'd give to return_

_To the life that I knew lately_

_But I know now I can't_

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Not too much later, her door opened again, and Draco Malfoy came in again, carrying some food and a blanket. As Hermione rubbed her eyes groggily, she saw that he was sporting a nasty black eye and a split lip.

"What happened to your face?" She asked quietly as he handed her some crackers and a banana.

He shrugged. "Aunt Bella and her gang of misfits happened. This may be Malfoy Manor, but it's no longer my house."

Hermione shivered at the thought, and Draco draped the blanket across her shoulders. It was unusually cold tonight, and Hermione noticed that Draco was wearing a homemade grey sweater over his neat black suit.

As he made to leave, Hermione asked, "Why do you stay here, Draco? The Order could hide you. You could live in a place where you aren't abused by your own relatives. You could join the side of good. All you have to do is walk out that door. Why don't you leave?"

He paused, then turned to face her. "Why do you stay with Potter, Granger, when you know you'll end up dead, or worse, here?"

"To fight you-know-who! To fight for my parents, for others like me!"

He shook his head. "No. You could do that without Potter. You could do that at a safer distance. I mean, why do you stay with Potty? Why don't you leave to save yourself?"

She contemplated what he was asking, then answered softly, "Because I love him."

He nodded. "And that is why I can't just up and leave. I can't leave my parents to die at the hands of Aunt Bella or the Dark Lord. I have to stay, to make sure they stay safe."

Hermione nodded, understanding. Draco opened the door, letting the light flood in for a few seconds, then closed it behind him, bathing Hermione in darkness.

She ate in silence, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

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_Is this home?_

_Am I here for a day or forever?_

_Shut away_

_From the world until who knows when_

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Draco came back almost every night, with food and healing potions. The two never spoke much, but had a mutual understanding of each other that Hermione would never have dreamed of back when she was the Gryffindor bookworm and he was the prince of Slytherin. But here, in this prison, she almost considered him a friend.

When they did speak, it was in serious tones, about life and love and other such things. Draco spoke of how his mother still liked to comb his hair for him on occasions, to pretend he was still her little boy. Hermione spoke of how her visions of Harry were the only thing keeping her from losing her mind during Bellatrix's torture sessions.

And when Draco would leave her for the night, she would drift off, chest aching more and more to see Harry again. He held her heart, far away from this Hell, and every night Hermione dreamt she was there with him, home.

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_Oh, but then_

_As my life has been altered once_

_It can change again_

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Three and a half weeks from her initial capture, Draco ran into her room, a panicked look on his face.

"He's coming."

She understood immediately. Voldemort was on his way, and if he arrived, her mind and knowledge of Harry would not be safe.

"Come on, you have to get out of here." He pulled on her arm, leading her out of the room.

They ran down the hall as Draco explained the situation in hushed tones. "Apparently Potty and Weasel decided to break out some of our other prisoners from the basement. They got caught, but you know Potter and his damn good luck with these things. They've escaped, but not before some idiot summoned the Dark Lord. He'll be here soon, and he wont have mercy. You have to escape."

Draco led her out into the back garden of the manor, then paused, pulling out an invisibility cloak from under his sweater. It was newer-looking and less efficient than Harry's, but it did it's job. Draco threw it over Hermione before leading her into the woods behind his house, till they were past the wards.

Hermione pulled off the cloak, looking up at Draco. He smiled gravely at her, handing her his wand.

"Stay safe, Granger. Make sure Potty doesn't die. Merlin knows he needs all the help he can get."

Hermione smiled sadly, the touched his cheek with her thin hand. "Come with me, Draco. Escape this place."

He had a wistful look on his face, almost contemplating her offer, but he shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

She nodded, throat constricting. They stood in silence for a moment, then Hermione threw her arms around the pale boy. He patted her back awkwardly before allowing himself to embrace her.

"Thank you, Draco."

"You're welcome…Hermione."

With one last glance at her savior, Hermione stunned him, hoping his punishment would be lessened if it looked like he had tried to stop her. Then, she apparated away, knowing that she would never see him again.

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_Build higher walls around me_

_Change every lock and key_

_Nothing lasts, nothing holds_

_All of me_

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She landed outside of the wards of what she supposed was Shell Cottage. Ron had talked about it often enough after his return, and Hermione knew that even if Harry wasn't here, Bill and Fleur would take her in without question.

The pain and torture of the past weeks took a toll on the young girl, and she finally allowed herself to collapse under the pressure, letting a few tears escape. She fell to the ground, half-covered in the invisibility cloak, blacking out as the moon started to disappear behind the trees.

Around dawn, Bill Weasley took a walk around the perimeters of the cottage, unable to sleep. Everyone was worried sick about Hermione, and most had given up on ever finding her alive. He, himself, couldn't bear the thought of what her death would do to Harry and Ron.

As he thought this, he saw her. At first, he thought it was his sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on him, then he realized she was breathing, she was there, she was real. He raced to her side, shaking her shoulders gently.

"Hermione?" Her eyes fluttered open, and fixed on Bill. "Hermione, can you hear me?" She nodded, eyes struggling to stay open. Realizing she would be out soon, he quickly asked her a safe-question. "Who was Fleur's date to the Yule Ball in your fourth year?"

Hermione's eyes closed, but she was able to whisper, "Roger…Davies…Ravenclaw prat…"

Bill smiled, opening the wards slightly to carry her through. He closed them quickly, then carried her back to the house. Fleur stood in the door way, a single tear rolling down her cheek. She had woken to find an empty bed, and come downstairs to find a miracle.

She put on a pot of tea as Bill set Hermione on their couch, summoning some potions and healing books. Bill tipped back the girl's head, helping her swallow the potions in her half-conscious state. She soon fell asleep, curled up peacefully on the couch under a quilt made my Mrs. Weasley as a home-warming gift.

Fleur slowly went upstairs to fetch Harry and Ron, deciding the others could wait until morning. Bill stayed by Hermione, studying her appearance. She was thin, with sunken cheeks and bony wrists. The circles under her eyes were enormous and eerily dark, and there were faint lines visible over her entire body where someone had clumsily tried to heal cuts. Bill brushed his thumb over her forehead, and considered telling Fleur to let the boys sleep. He didn't want them to see her in this state.

But even as he thought this, Ron and Harry came into the room, following Fleur. At the sight of Hermione asleep on the couch, the boys stared, mouths open.

Ron was the first to react, shouting, "Hermione!" He ran to her side, staring at her like she would disappear again. Harry stood dumbstruck, unable to make his legs move. To Bill, it looked like he was having trouble breathing.

His brain finally seemed to process what he was seeing, and he stumbled over to her side, collapsing to his knees. While Ron was crying with joy, Harry touched her face, face like that of a blind man seeing light for the first time. He brushed away hair from her eyes, tracing her cheeks, her jaw, then down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, until he reached her hand. Tears fell down his cheeks silently, as he brought her hand to his lips.

Hermione's eyes opened slowly, a smile forming on her face as she saw her boys in front of her. "Hey…" She murmured, pulling her hand from Harry's grasp to stroke his face.

He choked on his words. "H-hey."

Ron, deciding they could have their lovey moment later, threw himself at the girl in a very Hermione-esque hug. Harry joined, and the three sobbed and laughed together, the boys apologizing profusely, much to Hermione's displeasure.

"Harry, honestly. That was what I wanted you to do. The fate of the world rests in your life, not mine."

"But, Hermione-"

"No, Harry. Ron did the right thing taking you, and you did the right thing not trying to come back for me. I would rather die than let you get caught by those monsters."

"But-"

Giving up on words, Hermione silenced Harry with her lips. He was startled at first, but gave in quickly, gripping the sides of her face in his hands. Ron turned to smile teary-eyed at Bill and Fleur, who looked on with shining eyes.

The couple broke apart, smiling and crying. Harry held the girl close as she recounted her capture and escape to the group in the living room, avoiding the topic of her torture. She knew Harry would force it out of her later, but for now, she would keep them occupied with the sacrifice of Draco Malfoy.

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_My heart's far, far away_

_Home and free_

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_Nineteen Years Later_

Harry and Hermione Potter stood at Platform 9 ¾, hoisting their children's trunks onto the train. James, the eldest at age fifteen, helped his second-year sister, Lily, into the compartment. Her curly black hair bounced wildly as she stabled herself, her glasses dangerously close to falling off. James ran a hand through his unmanageable brown hair, slipping his glasses into his pocket as he spotted a group of cute Ravenclaws. Lily kissed her parents goodbye, then ran off with her cousin, Rosie, to find their friends. Harry could see Ron and Luna in the distance, and waved them over.

Harry and Hermione's youngest son, though, stood next to his mother nervously, afraid to board the train. He was an dark-haired eleven-year-old with glasses and bright-green eyes. Watching him eye the train nervously reminding Hermione of the first time she met Harry, and she knelt down to see what was the matter.

"Something wrong, love?" She asked as Harry and Ron greeted each other. Her son nodded sadly.

"James says I'll be in Slytherin. I think he was joking, but what if I really am?"

"Draco Potter, you were named after a Slytherin I once knew, and he was bravest man I ever knew. Saved my life, dying in the process. If you are in Slytherin, then they'll be lucky to have you." His eyes widened, and he nodded slowly.

"Really?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, really. Now run along, the train's going to leave soon." Draco jumped into the compartment, kissing his mother on the cheek and waving to his father.

"Be good, Draco! We'll see you at Christmas! I love you!" Hermione shouted to her son as the train sped away, disappearing in the smoke.

Harry wrapped an arm around her as they watched their youngest child leave, kissing her cheek. Every year at this time, she felt a pang of sorrow and gratitude as she walked through the crowds, half-expecting to see a white-blonde child running past, a stunning blonde woman calling after him, calling some strange name like Orion or Scorpius or Cephus.

But every year she was disappointed. There was no boy, no beautiful mother, and most devastatingly enough, no stern, balding father to watch in slight amusement, then to meet her eye in mutual understanding.

Harry kissed her head, then whispered in her ear, "I'll never be able to repay him and his family for all he gave me. One day, I hope I can do something to honor his memory, because he gave me the greatest treasure I could ever hope for."

Hermione smiled sadly, kissing him on the cheek. Walking slowly, hand in hand, they entered back into the muggle world, and headed home.

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_Home and free_

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